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Live Encounters Poetry & Writing February 2023
Release, poems by Marcella Remund.
In the un-earthing,
when whatever remains of us
is released from our crumbling
bodies, perhaps our sparks will
unfold wings of silver-white light
and free at last we will, for a time,
ride the grey horizon until we lift,
melt into the star-sequined dark,
until our lights are brief pin-pricks
in the velvet black and we, pure
joy. Perhaps back down here, a few
of us will look up, button up tight
our coats of longing and grief, cover
our heads, quiet our hands in deep
pockets, and turn into the wind.
Cusp of morning
In those moments when you float and drift
near the open door of your dreams, somewhere
between a locked iron gate so tall you can’t
make out its finials among clouds, and the home
of your youth, eternally on fire but without ash
or cinder, you hear a voice half singing, Wake,
dear one, wake. But you roll your eyes back
in your head, turn onto your side and keep
dreaming, curious to see who else comes to warm
themselves at the flames, or what three-toed
creatures climb the gate and disappear in the clouds,
in a sky that shifts just now, whooshes below
your feet as you lift your sudden wings, tilt
your head just so, and bank toward a sliver of moon.
The time before
In the time before, when fontanelles
were still open, I moved easily between
body and There like moving between
a small room and an endless wild garden.
In the time before, we recognized
each other by the pulsing signatures
of our heartlights, the timbre of waves
and frequencies, the reach of rays.
So much from the time before
is gauzy memory now, quick pictures
that roll past just before sleep, like
loose film reels left to spin, flap.
I wake feeling the wrap of your thighs
There—were dark and light the same There?
Was there a cat sleeping on a chiseled stone?
Was I singing, holding you, you holding me?
In this time of yellowed paper, fading pictures, dust,
let us keep a toe in the doorway, keep the way
clear so together, we can make our way
back There, home to the time before.
© Marcella Remund
Marcella Remund is from South Dakota in the American heartland, where she taught at the University of South Dakota. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals. Her poem “Caught” won first prize in the 2022 O’Bheal International Five Words Poetry Competition in Cork, Ireland. Her chapbook, The Sea is My Ugly Twin, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. Her first full-length collection, The Book of Crooked Prayer, was published by Finishing Line in 2020. You can find more information and links to her books, at https://www.marcellaremund.com/